


Without me, there is no you

by mobile_mom



Category: True Detective
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Past Abuse, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mobile_mom/pseuds/mobile_mom
Summary: 1995 while Marty stays at Rust's house and what could have happened.“That okay, Marty?”Rust raised Marty’s hands and kissed him lovingly on each wrist without ever taking his eyes off the other man. It felt like velvety petals landing on soft moss, surrounded by fresh morning dew.“Trust me” Rust carefully closed the distance between them and allowed their foreheads to touch.“Not everyone is going to hurt you, Marty. Lean back for me, hmm?”Marty looked at him like an innocent fawn, bathed in the golden glow of the morning’s sunlight that shone through the flimsy curtains.When he obeyed, tiny particles rose from the pillow and danced through the air.“I’ve got you” Rust rasped.
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Without me, there is no you

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to the lovely [MintJam](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/MintJam/pseuds/MintJam). Not only did she drag me away from our other ship and made me watch True Detective but she was also so kind to beta read for me. It's been an honour, Minty, and thanks for opening this rabbit hole to me.
> 
> Please listen to this wonderful piece of Samuel Barber [Samuel Barber - Adagio for Strings](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izQsgE0L450) before /while reading to get yourself in a peaceful but also emotional morning atmosphere just what Rust steps into:  
> 

Fertile golden wheat fields under a bright summer’s sky, a warm taste of honey and the fragrance of a distant ocean breeze, that’s what he felt, looking at Marty.  


It shouldn't feel strange walking around his own house, but even after all the weeks they had lived together and their recent triumph, he still wasn't sure how Marty would react if his face was the first thing he saw when he woke up.  


He wasn't even sure why Marty was still here. Or why he had stopped asking about Maggie at some point.  


Sure, there was actually an explanation for it. An explanation that perfectly explained why Rust sneaked up the creaking stairs to the second floor early in the morning. But it didn't fit the picture he had of Marty Hart.  


The explanation that haunted him fit perfectly into his longing dreams, but how dare he have the slightest hint of hope that it was the reason why Marty hadn't looked for his own apartment yet.  


Rust felt his eyes start to burn and closed them as he leaned his head against the wooden door frame with a deep, silent breath.  


He tried to ignore the cold, ferrous taste that threatened to cover the warm hint of honey when he heard Marty ask sleepily,:  


“How long have you been standing there?” and the slightly embarrassed smile that was not only on Marty's lips, but also sparked through his eyes, made Rust shiver in anticipation.  


And it probably would have been a good time to throw some grumpy answer towards Marty and piss off, but he was done with prowling around the wounded man like a big cat in his own four walls.  
He needed certainty. Certainty that there was a majestic lion lying in his bed, rather than a feeble kitten still chasing a dream that wasn’t meant to be its reality.  


Rust longed to feel the rustle of heavy wheat in the wind as he smoothly walked towards Marty’s side of the bed. He watched the other man sit up slowly and the smell of a distant sea breeze wrapped around them.  


The bed hardly gave way when Rust gently settled on the edge.  
His eyes clinked to the infinite sky blue of Marty's beautiful, bright eyes that blinked nervously.  


“Do you trust me?” Rust asked with the usual heaviness of his monotonous voice.  


“Uh, what? Of course I do, - Rust. You’re my partner— ” Marty replied visibly confused. Or was he embarrassed? With every second that passed, he looked more like a shy deer trying to jump away.  


In retrospect, neither of them could have said whether Rust had asked very carefully,  
“That okay, Marty?”  


But both would remember how dizzying energy caught them as soon as Rust's gentle fingers touched Marty's wrists.  
No hesitation from one man, no flinching away from the other, only the two of them, sensing what they had both been waiting for, for so long.  


Rust raised Marty’s hands and kissed him lovingly on each wrist without ever taking his eyes off the other man. It felt like velvety petals landing on soft moss, surrounded by fresh morning dew.  


Marty’s face began to burn, his lips trembled and he was obviously fighting an inner struggle that hurt Rust as if he had to go through it himself.  


“Trust me” Rust carefully closed the distance between them and allowed their foreheads to touch.  


“Rust…”.  


But Marty’s helpless lips were sealed by a soft kiss.  


“Fuck!” he gasped “Oh fuck, I…I know I shouldn’t be here, Rust. I…but I...” a gust of wind fluttered the floor-length curtains and everything suddenly seemed so precarious again.  


Rust cupped Marty's face with one hand while the thumb of his other hand gently stroked Marty's wrist. Marty seemed to dissolve under the tenderness Rust offered, as much as the strength and confidence.  


“And yet here you are” Rust pointed out without any heat.  


Marty leaned in closer, trying to hide in Rust’s shoulder. Warmth. Delight. They had both needed this hold for so long. After a little while, Rust felt rather than heard, Marty mumbling,  
“Just don’t hate me, Rust. “  


He huffed in disbelief and started to stroke Marty’s lush hair, still tousled by the night’s sleep.  


Marty rambled on, “I’ve been trying so hard all my life and somehow I just fucked everything up, and there are all these people who hate me and god knows I hate myself more.”  


That painful revelation didn’t come as a surprise to Rust. He gently pushed Marty away from his shoulder, lifted the strong chin up with his index finger and thumb and looked closely at the face of his counterpart, heated by shame and lust.  


“Not everyone is going to hurt you, Marty. Lean back for me, hmm?”  


Marty looked at him like an innocent fawn, bathed in the golden glow of the morning’s sunlight that shone through the flimsy curtains.  
When he obeyed, tiny particles rose from the pillow and danced through the air.  


“I’ve got you” Rust rasped.  


He was closely watched in awe by Marty as he slowly slid the duvet completely down the strong man’s body and cautiously climbed over him. Rust positioned his legs on either side of Marty’s bare thighs and when their toned limbs touched they seemed to create an electric spark. Both men breathed faster as Rust leaned down, pausing for a moment to admire Marty's thin, tender lips. He wondered what they would taste like, as a small breathless noise escaped below him and he finally gave in. Welcoming the wanting lips, they both pulled each other into the kiss moving their tongues with craving and need. Rust was still bracing his arms next to Marty's shoulders, but he slowly allowed his hips to give way and a warm weight settled on Marty, who started to moan slightly.  


“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”  


But Marty didn’t answer. His strong fingers clenched into the sheets and his legs trembled.  


Rust glowed inside at the effect he had on Marty and he felt a velvety, rich taste of peaches on his tongue.  


It made him happy when he saw that Marty was so devoted and confident that he had closed his eyes.  


Slowly settling down between the other man’s legs, Rust lifted Marty’s shirt up and savored the delicate skin with a devouring kiss. He had a desire to prove that he wasn't the block of ice Marty surely would have thought he was when they first met. This was finally his chance to show Marty how much passion was burning in him. Passion, that made him long for the other man’s touch. A fire burned in Rust’s chest as he wanted to make Marty happy. No, more, he wanted to satisfy him deeply, he ... he was suddenly surrounded by an icy cold. Rust felt as if an icy dagger studded with thorns would pierce through his innermost heart and tried to extinguish his passionate fire. Hallucinations threatened to overpower him as he tried to focus. As if looking through a dark tunnel, he witnessed that Marty from one moment to the next clung to the sheets with fear, rather than pleasure, that his legs were shaking with panic rather than excitement. What had he done? A foul taste spread in his mouth and only through a veil did he feel that Marty's eyes were narrowed—as if in pain—and tears were flowing from them. Only when, with great effort, and as with the last strength a tortured "stop it!" emerged between Marty’s pressed lips, Rust noticed his hand was holding the hem of Marty's boxers and he had started to pull them down.  


What he saw made him freeze in horror.  


Time stood still. They were surrounded by darkness and pain.  


“Who did this to you?”  


Marty struggled to pull his legs protectively towards himself to hide the dread, but Rust had put his hand on Marty's left knee.  


“Talk to me, Marty.”  


He stared intently at the ice-blue eyes that met him with shame and fear. In itself, it was a miracle that Marty hadn't yet run away. Other than that, Rust had no idea what to make of what he saw. He feverishly wondered if he had never seen Marty naked in the precinct’s shower in all that time, and he was even more confused by the question of why Maggie had done such a thing. It must have been Maggie, right?  


After all, that was clearly the imprint of an iron. Burned into the inside of Marty's thigh, the tip of the iron dangerously high, like a memento of shame. Rust was stunned with pain and anger, acid burned in his throat and he heard a shrill whistle in his ear.  


How could that have happened?  


While he struggled to consider whether Maggie seriously could have been capable of such violence, his subconscious, apparently feverishly trying to explain this horror logically, urged him to think that the burn looked relatively old.  


“I…I was really proud I got that summer job way back in 1977."  


‘You see, it wasn't Maggie,’ rushed through Rust's head, but another inner voice countered ‘why not, they surely knew each other during high school already.’ Jesus Christ, did she claim him like that? No no, no, that didn’t fit to her personality, she was obsessive yes, but she also wanted everything to look picture perfect. Such a gruesome reminder would have ruined the image; it would have hurt her each and every single time she looked at it.  


“In fact,” and now Marty sat up, leaned against the headboard and laid his own hand over Rust’s, which had started to clench pretty painfully at his knee.  


“In fact I wasn’t just proud I got myself one of the very few jobs that were available over summer, but I got it for the both of us.”  


Marty’s strong hand had begun to caress Rust’s fine fingers.  


Rust was overwhelmed by the strength that emanated all of a sudden from Marty, who still couldn't look him in the eye, but had a slight smile playing around his thin lips. And then Rust realized that it wasn't a strength he felt, but love. The painful memory of an old, long-repressed love.  


Marty cleared his throat and his shining eyes finally met Rust’s.  


"Well, I wanted to do everything right, you know, make a good impression. So I was there ironing my shirt and told my old man very proud that Pete and I had snatched the few coveted spots at Mr. Wilbur’s supermarket. I was so excited and gushed before my father, what a winning team we were and what a great athlete Pete was, and—"  


Marty's voice faltered, they held each other now firmly by the hand.  


"—and suddenly it came to my dad. Something I wasn't even aware of at the time.”  


Marty dropped his head to the wall and exhaled shakily.  


“Phew,” Marty smiled nervously with fast blinking eyes.  


“What can I say, Mr. Hart senior wasn't thrilled that his own son was dressing up like a queen for another fag.”  


And more silent and sadly he added:  
“So he made sure I gave up the shitty ironing once and for all. "  


Rust carefully climbed onto Marty's left side, leaned against the end of the bed with him and gently took the deeply hurt man in his arms.  


Entering the room, Rust had expected a lot, and hoped for even more, but he never could have imagined something like this.  


He kissed Marty gently on the forehead and leaned his head against him. Marty's warmth surrounded them both.  
For a while they just listened and took comfort in each other’s heart beat.  


“Rust?”  


“Hmm?” he hummed  


“I’m so fucking scared.”  


“I know, Marty. I know.”  


A greenfinch sang in front of their window.  


Rust got lost in the scent of Marty’s straw blond, firm hair, a taste of sweet strawberries on his tongue.  


“What happens if we do this, Rust?”  


Without opening his eyes, he slowly turned Marty a little more towards him, their noses touching lightly, and then he kissed his loved one tenderly on the lips.  
“Whatever you want, Marty.”  


And they slowly slid down, embracing each other under the covers. The gentle rustling of the bedspread was like the rustling of wheat swaying softly in the wind.  


And the sun enveloped the room in rich light and surrounded them with a protective, golden shell.  


“Whatever I want, huh?” Marty beamed at him  


And there it was again: the notion of fertile golden wheat fields under a bright summer’s sky, a warm taste of honey and the fragrance of a distant ocean breeze, yeah, that’s what he felt, looking at Marty.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been my first Rust and Marty fic, please kindly leave a kudo or comments if you liked it. I'd also love to get in touch with some True Detective fans, so please feel free to reach out. Maybe there is a place on Discord where we could chat?


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